


allegro assai

by shizuruu



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: M/M, really old, so excuse the sketchiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:57:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shizuruu/pseuds/shizuruu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I have this fear of coughing<br/>but I do not speak,<br/>a fear of rain, a fear of the horseman<br/>who comes riding into my mouth.<br/>The glass tilts in on its own<br/>and I amon fire.<br/>I see two thin streaks burn down my chin.<br/>I see myself as one would see another.<br/>I have been cut into two."</p>
<p>- For The Year Of The Insane -Anne Sexton</p>
            </blockquote>





	allegro assai

**Allegro**

**assai**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**I. mezzoforte**

 

It consumed them; quietly with the fake innocence of a child - **passion, desire,** a goblet full of carmine liquid which streamed down their skin with the melody of broken laughter as a prelude. An _evil_ kiss and _sweet_ poison, an embrace without comfort. Feigned love - nothing but common, crude **lust**. People learn to hate the pain and love their partners but _**monsters**_ like them savored the pain, craddled it to their chest and accepted it as a part of their existence all the while feeling nothing but disgust and hatred (sweetened by a hint of fascination) to each other. They were the only of their kind, left with their loneliness, never ready to outstretch a hand - an offering of peace.

 

Pride, bringing us to our knees, gasps of pain used just like prayers.

> _\- Holy Mary, mother of God,_
> 
> _pray for us sinners, now, and in_
> 
> _the hour of our death._
> 
> _Amen._

 

Because ~~love~~ was just a term used to describe obsession - the core of all destruction. And hatred itself was way more romantic than the pathetically overrated feeling used in pornographic novels.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** II. forte **

 

I could have loved you.

We could have had it all. And we chose sex.

 

_Lovemaking_ \- a term reserved strictly for lovers, because what they performed was **impulsive, twisted** and **wrong** in every way. **Violence** and **ruthlessness**. Fight for dominance, without a winner, with losers only, because that’s the way it should be and yes, they indeed deserved it. Blood. Faces hidden behind hands and bitter tears, desperately pleading for love. Emotion, that didn’t exist in their vocabulary.

 

~~< Only the guilt in their stomachs, coldly clenching around their viscera changed into vomited gastric acids and aversion to the other one in the morning.>~~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_** III. fortissimo ** _

 

A shot of alcohol is always drunk alone, a glass, that is supposed to hold the denied answers. They count the nights spent with animalistic moves of naked bodies, not a coordination but just another form of fighting after which the younger man stumbles out of a random alleyway covered by freshly forming _reddish_ and _purplish_ bruises and red crescents, runs all the way to his apartment where he locks himself in the bathroom and lets all the liquids flow freely in the steaming shower - inhumanly cold _tears_ , repulsive ~~sperm~~ and lots and lots of **blood**.

And still he returns every day with an even more flaccid and less believable smirk and awaits the moment, when his façade breaks and he will remain alone, with masochistic excitement. Because the pain... the pain makes him feel alive.

Uncertainty and the fear of emptiness, nothingness and death. Only during those times when Shizuo was crushing him in his hands, shaped him, when Izaya drew ornaments on Shizuo’s body with his knife and played with his mind, during those perfectly repelling times he felt truly alive.

 

And he needed those moments.

 

_~~The older one would spend his days trying to wash away the blood on his bed sheets, cursing himself and the person that made him realize just how realistically monstrous he is. But at the same time he hoped that those bruises, proof that he had been here, will never fade.~~ _

__

**The hauntingly authentic scream pierced the stale air in the apartment and somewhere in the background you could catch the sound of bones breaking along with quiet whimpers and sobs, ode to the night, a piece of art, but not for the raven-haired man that lay on the mattress in agony, eyes wide open with fear. And at the same time - pleasure. He was alive. Welcoming and accepting the unbearable pain, ignoring the fact that all the bones in his right arm were currently being crushed.**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ IV. piano _

 

_Everything was blurry, the color of his skin, walls, clothes. Why? He could hear someone panic from a distance and he smiled which soon turned into loud laughter with a certain part of insanity in his eyes, until he started to choke on a red liquid, trying to make its way through his trachea all the way up. He closed his eyes - one of his last mistakes. He disappeared._

_Confused shouts when Shizuo realized that this is wrong, this shouldn’t be happening. Futile promises and faking of nonexistent feelings._

_White scars on his neck, dark bags under his eyes, tears - because he can feel the end is near and the only thing he can think of is; what would happen if he didn’t mess with monsters._

_'B-but! Not now! I can’t! Not now! I don’t want to---'_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


~~_ V. pianissimo _ ~~

 

> With the first rays of sunshine, two cooling bodies lay exposed to a beatiful spring day.
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> Black hair falling in dark red eyes, mirroring the final moments of terror. And thousands of **t** i **n** y **d** r **o** p **l** e **t** s of the same color as those eyes spread all over both of them.
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> _"I have this fear of coughing_
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> _but I do not speak,_
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> _a fear of rain, a fear of the horseman_
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> _who comes riding into my mouth._
> 
> _The glass tilts in on its own_
> 
> _and I amon fire._
> 
> _I see two thin streaks burn down my chin._
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> _I see myself as one would see another._
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> _I have been cut int two."_
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> _\- For The Year Of The Insane -Anne Sexton_
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**.fin.**


End file.
